


we fell in love in october

by saltyvenus



Category: American Horror Story: 1984
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, I will continue writing for them 😔🤟, also angst, but will that stop me? of course not!, this ship died and so did Montana cause Brooke killed her lmaooo, why am I so invested in them-
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 07:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21115046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyvenus/pseuds/saltyvenus
Summary: that's why i love fall





	we fell in love in october

**Author's Note:**

> I am such a clown for them but thats ok

brooke wishes things were different—that the two of them were in love, just like she’d always dreamed from the very start, when she caught the first glance of brown eyes that glinted like the stars above and she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she’d never be the same again.

that’s the hardest part, too; the fact that she doesn’t want to hate her, to pack up her things and leave like they never knew each other—she doesn’t want to, but she’s not sure that there’s anything else left to do now that things have fallen apart in such grievously disastrous fashion; she’s not sure that there’s a better way to go about handling the fact that she hurt brooke, badly, in a way brooke doesn’t think any amount of ‘please’s’ and 'i’m sorry’s’ and ‘forgive me’s’ will ever fix. 

brooke doesn’t want to be here, standing in the bedroom they used to share, looking the woman she loves dead in the eyes as she asks her to stay, to forgive her for leaving, filling the space between her with an overwhelming profusion of empty promises that brooke’s downright terrified to believe for even the most fleeting of moments. 

and, yet, maybe the two of them were always predestined to come here, to this moment, where brooke’s looking at her and she's looking right back at brooke, and there’s something she can’t quite name that permeates the air all around, telling her what the both of them already know: that this is it. that, after this, she’ll be done. 

“you still love me.” montana states, something rather rare and almost dangerous glinting in her hazel eyes—very clearly, it’s not a question. 

brooke clenches her jaw, begging the tears burning in her eyes to not fall. “maybe i do.”

she steps closer then, decreasing the distance between the two of them from a safe foot to mere inches; brooke inhales sharply on more of a reflex than anything else, silently pleading with her not to do this, not to fight—truly, brooke doesn’t think she has the energy to fight any longer, not while the montana-shaped hole in her chest still burns so agonizingly around each tattered edge, not while her being physically aches for her touch, her affection, her love, an arduous kind of longing that only ever seemed to worsen tenfold upon the inevitable realization that brooke couldn’t have it anymore, not now and certainly not any time in the future. 

nonetheless, montana doesn’t back down—suddenly, she’s close, too close, the faint coconut-y scent of her invading brooke’s nostrils in a way that makes her ache for better days, and fuck, but brooke can’t be here right now. 

“don’t,” she growls, tone low and strict in a way brooke’s heard her use time and time again on an amusingly unrepentant xavier plympton, but not brooke— _ never _ on brooke, “lie to me.”

brooke swallows thickly, her heart thundering rapidly in her chest, montana’s hot breath ghosting warmly against the tip of her nose.

“f-fine,” she breathes out, that small kernel of anger flaring up again deep in her gut, fueling her next words; “i do, okay? you know i do. but, montana, that doesn’t change anyth—”

“say it,” she interrupts, swift and self-assured—brooke swears she steps closer, too, because all of a sudden their warm breaths are mingling with one another and brooke’s looking straight up into that familiar pair of impossibly brown eyes, her pert nose brushing against brooke’s in a way that has her lips tingling with the remembrance of montana’s kisses, of how they felt pressed so gently against hers— 

“say it,” she snarls again, successfully (thankfully) derailing brooke from her rather tangential train of weak-willed thought. 

“w-what?”

her face doesn’t change, and brooke feels a shudder-worthy chill run down her spine. “say you love me.”

“i—" brooke halts herself then, entirely floored, each and every rational thought flying promptly from her brain until all she can think of is montana and how gorgeous her eyes look tonight and how beautifully the shadows fall across her regal features in the dimly-lit bedroom and montana, period. “i-i… why?”

“say it.”

brooke bites anxiously at her lower lip, feeling the words building inevitably in her chest and willing them desperately (futilely) to stay put—she knows it won’t work though; she knows she’s fighting a losing battle, and when she finally breaks, it’s like water bursting through an overflowing dam.

“i love you,” brooke says, wishing more than anything that she didn’t mean it, but god, she does, she does, she does, and she’s growing more terrified by the day that there won’t ever come a day that she doesn't. 

montana’s gaze grows just the slightest bit softer at that, and heaven help her, but it’s like poetry in motion to witness—exquisite… yet at the very same time, wholly and utterly obscure. 

“i love you, too,” she husks back, low and raspy and perfect—and, damn it all, but brooke loves her. more than anything. 

she’s not sure who moves first, or how exactly it happens, but they fall into a kiss then and it’s like magic, like the very first time all over again: her lips warm and insistent and alive against brooke’s, her calloused palms tracing the curve of her hips with the ease of someone who’s mapped every inch of her body night after night, kiss by kiss in the comfort of each other’s company. 

and brooke surrenders to it; she allows herself to go pliant and willing in her arms, melting against her instinctually and feeling her strong arms wrap solidly around her and knowing without a doubt in brooke’s mind that she’ll catch brooke, because this… this is love, the kind of love brooke knows damn well she can’t live without. 

it’s sickening and sweet all at the same time.

  
  
  



End file.
